


fate dealt you a tricky hand

by storyskein



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: 3 + 1, Angst, Did I mention angst, F/M, Gen, Melodrama, Post Season Four, Post-Finale, might be a little jossed? idk., spec-ish, the most dramatic thing i've ever written
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-25
Updated: 2017-05-25
Packaged: 2018-11-04 17:10:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10995294
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/storyskein/pseuds/storyskein
Summary: Three times that Bellamy has to tell Abby something terrible happened to Clarke, and one time Abby gets to return the favor.Title fromIn the Lightby The Lumineers





	fate dealt you a tricky hand

**Author's Note:**

> I started writing this last night based on some spec. Some of it might be joss'd idk? It was beta'd by the lovely ms_scarlet and verbaepulchellae. Spelling and grammar due to EMOTIONS AND WINE AND THIS GODDAMN FINALE.

_**November, two months after the dropship landed, the first time:**_

The first time Bellamy said goodbye to Clarke was also the first time that he told Abby her daughter was gone. It’s not a memory he likes to think about, it’s not a memory he can even fully engage with most of the time--usually only during the maudlin end of being drunk. But when he does, it happens like this: 

The sky is so blue it makes his eyes squint, the white sun so bright that Clarke fades into a back-lit black figure disappearing into the woods before he can look away. Dead, frost-killed grass whispers in the breeze, sounds like the murmurs of ghosts just out of sight. When he finally brings himself to move, to put one foot in front of the other, to walk past Monty’s questioning gaze and through that gate into Camp Jaha, he’s hollowed out and empty. He has no words. 

Except he has to have words. 

Bellamy feels Kane’s hand first, bolting out to grab the sleeve of his shirt as he passes. “Bellamy--you all right, son?” Bellamy can only watch in a distant, vacant way as Kane’s face morphed from tired but unworried--they had won, hadn’t they? They were _safe_ , finally--to concerned, then _getting it_ , without Bellamy having to say. Kane looked past him to the still-open gate, to the empty field behind Bellamy, to the woods already shadowy dark in the oncoming dusk. 

“Fuck,” Kane whispered, just as Abby asked, “Where’s Clarke?” Abby’s eyes flitted to Bellamy, searched the emptiness next to him, expecting him to have Clarke at his side. Maybe seeing her where she was supposed to be, next to him, both of them doing _this_ together. It took her another second to process before she asked again, her voice louder but cracking, “Where’s Clarke, Bellamy?”

“She’s…,” Bellamy shifted his weight, licked his lips. What else was there to say? “She’s gone.”

“Gone? What do you mean, _gone_?” Abby’s question whipped into the chill wind, causing people to turn to them. 

“Abby.” Kane squeezed her hand and looked back up at Bellamy. “Just tell us what happened.”

“I don’t know...I don’t know what happened.” Tears pricked the back of his eyes, and he blinked them away. Not here, not now, not yet. “She just...left. Said she couldn’t come inside.”

Abby’s face crumpled then and tears slipped down her cheeks. “Where did she go?” 

Bellamy kept his eyes trained on the ground. “She didn’t tell me. She said she didn’t know.”

“We’ll find her.” Kane stood up, clapped a hand on Bellamy’s shoulder. He reached down for Abby, turned to look at her. “We’ll find her. I promise.” 

_**Late January, five months after the dropship landed and three months after Clarke left, the second time:** _

Kane opened the Council Room door. “We’re ready for you.” 

Bellamy nodded and gave Gina a quick kiss on the cheek. “This will only take a couple of hours. Meet you afterward?” 

Gina smiled at him, but worry made it a tight, incomplete gesture. “Sure. Use your crutches. Don’t try to be macho.”

There was a chaos inside him, but still, he desperately wanted to make her laugh. Wanted this to somehow all be all right. “Me? Be macho? Never.”

But she didn’t smirk like he wanted. 

“See you in a bit,” she said and turned to walk down the hall. 

Bellamy swung forward on his crutches, trying to ignore the hot pain throbbing from his thigh. Tried to ignore that only three months ago he was telling Abby that her daughter had left her, left him, left them both. And that now it was his fault she had slipped through their fingers yet again. 

He involuntarily winced as he lowered himself onto the chair, determinedly keeping his eyes on the map behind Kane. 

A beat of heavy silence between the three of them. Nothing needed to be said. No one wanted to say it, because they knew he felt the guilt at his impulse decision, the humiliation of what had happened in the woods. How much had Kane told Abby about that? His flicked his gaze to Abby who was staring at her hands splayed out on the table. Her chest rose and fell quickly, and her jaw worked as she tried to swallow down her emotion. 

“Tell me what happened,” Abby demanded softly. “Marcus could only say so much.” 

Bellamy didn’t mince words. He didn’t deserve to be left off the hook for this--it was his fault, and he wanted Abby to know that. 

“I lost her. I went after her, defying a command from Kane. I saw what I thought was an opportunity to follow the man who had her.” 

“Did you recognize him?” Kane asked. 

“No.” 

“What about her?” Abby whispered. “How was she? Did you see her?”

_I’ll get you out of here..._

Bellamy licked his lips, tried to ignore the twisting coil of shame in his gut. “Yes. I did. She was bound but seemed mostly unharmed.” 

“What happened next?”

_No, please, please don’t. I’ll do anything, I’ll stop fighting. Just, please, don’t kill him_. 

“The man attacked me from behind. Stabbed me, told me not to follow, and knocked me out.” 

_We can’t lose Clarke. We can’t lose her_. 

“It’s not your fault,” Abby said suddenly, reaching across the table and placing her hand over his. Bellamy could tell that it cost her to say it, but when she squeezed his hand it felt like she meant it. Or maybe, eventually, would mean it. 

The weight in his chest--the only thing keeping him grounded to the _here_ to the _now_ to the _what needs to be done next_ \--began to unravel. 

Abby must have noticed, because she held his hand tight and through her own tears said, “We’ll get her back, okay? We’ll find her. And now, at least we know she’s alive.” 

_**In space, seven months after the dropship landed, three months after Praimfaya, the third time:** _

“I’ll tell her,” Raven said, quiet and determined. She sat behind the communications station, hands gripping the edge of the desk so Bellamy couldn’t see them shake. Only now, three months later, had the particulate matter in the atmosphere shaken out enough so they could establish contact. They had been successful with the Bunker, but there was no signal from Becca’s lab. And besides, Bellamy reminded himself whenever the hope that Clarke had somehow made it threatened to poison, the timeline just didn’t work. The nightblood hadn’t worked. Clarke was dead, and Abby deserved to know. 

“No.” Bellamy lifted the handset out of Raven’s hands. “This is on me.” 

Raven started to shake her head, but he put his other hand on her forearm and squeezed. “I told Abby I’d take care of her, and I didn’t.” He nodded to the exit. “Why don’t you go check on the air system?’

Raven’s eyes glistened and her mouth opened to protest, but Bellamy didn’t want to hear it. Again, somehow, he had lost Clarke. And yet again, it was on him to tell Abby. 

“Go, Raven. You don’t need to be here for this.” This time it wasn’t a question, it was a order. 

Raven nodded finally, assenting, then walked slowly to the door. Each moment seemed to take forever--the shuffle of Raven’s boots on metal, the low electronic beeps of the keypad, the doors sliding open, the doors snapping shut. Then the spacious silence of the Ark once more, both familiar and foreign. The air was stale compared to the fresh resin of the earth and there was a pang in his heart. They had begun to make a home, but it was never _right_. Still, in that long moment before he adjusted the console to the Bunker’s frequency, he missed it. Missed what it could have been. 

“Guys? You still there?” Kane’s voice, scratchy. 

Bellamy cleared his throat, pressed the button on the mic to transmit. “Yeah. I’m here. Hey...is Abby with you?”

“Yeah, we sent someone to get her. She should be right here. Octavia is on her way too, everyone is so excited to hear from you.” Kane paused, and his next words quavered a little around the edges. “We thought we lost you all, Bellamy.” 

“Kane--,” but before Bellamy could warn him there was another buzz and crackle, and Abby joined the line. The first question, of course, “Is Clarke there? Can I talk to her? I cannot believe you guys _launched the goddamn rocket_ …”

“Abby.” Bellamy could barely grit out her name. 

But in it, Abby heard enough. 

Another pop and buzz from the radio. Bellamy was thankful that the signal for video wasn’t strong enough yet, that it was just...just this. It seemed simpler. Cowardly, probably, but in the litany of his sins that seemed pretty fucking low at the moment. 

“What?” He barely heard the word, how tremulous it sounded. The times before flashed in his eyes, how Abby’s eyes would flash with denial, then hurt, then determination. Like her daughter’s would. “Tell me. Is she sick? Hurt? Busy?”

“Abby…” Bellamy heard Kane whisper, could hear Abby already whispering no, over and over. 

Bellamy swallowed down the thick closing of his own throat, and somehow--and looking back, he’d never know how, but he said it. 

“Abby...I’m so sorry. But Clarke...Clarke didn’t make it.” 

“What do you mean, she didn’t _make_ it?”

Bellamy heard the _ping_ of something on metal, belatedly realized that tears coursed down his cheeks, spilling onto the console below him.

“We needed the satellite fixed. We were supposed to do it together, but--it doesn’t matter. It didn’t happen. Something...something must have went wrong. She had time to get back, but then she didn’t, and--we had to leave Abby. Or we all would have died.” 

“So you’re saying she could still be alive.” Fuck, the Griffin determination, Bellamy wanted to laugh and scream, to break every goddamn thing in this room with his bare hands.

Bellamy knew that almost nothing could kill the hope and determination of either Abby or Clarke, but he had to try. It was a mercy, he told himself, to not let Abby have a illusions about Clarke’s survival.

“Abby, there was no way she could have made it. The time just doesn’t work. Raven and I...we’ve spent hours. Hours trying to make it work. Clarke was...already sick, from the radiation. The nightblood either didn’t work or didn’t work enough for her exposure.” The wave of grief threatened to pull him under, he lowered his head with the weight of it. “I’m so, so sorry, Abby.”

Abby screamed. He heard Kane, and even Octavia’s voice in the mix. No one came to the mic to shut it off, so Bellamy just listened. Even in death, he’d witness Clarke anyway he could, and their grief was the last thing they had left. He left the receiver on until someone in the Bunk turned the radio off, and once again, he was alone in the silence of the Ark. 

 

_**Year 6, Month 2, Day 17 NEA (New Earth Age), twenty hours after The Seven landed on earth, three hours after arrival at the Bunker. The first--and last--time.**_

The quiet of the bunker and of space were different, but both shared the same mechanical hum, the clicking on and off of water and air recycling systems, the sound of metal expanding and contracting as it heated up and cooled down. After the crash landing and eighteen hour hike and the chaos of their arrival, Bellamy appreciated the peace of the basement level of the bunker. The massive amount of people, the noise, the bustle compared to yawning silence was overwhelming. It was nice to have a moment to breathe, to take it all in. 

Still, tired as he was, he was restless. An itch, a whisper of something, tickled at his bones, and he needed to move. He stood up from the faux-leather exam table, noting that the one thing the bunker had that Go-Sci didn’t was comfort. The Bunker had been built for rich donors who could afford to buy their safe passage, and even after over six years of hard use, it showed. The walls of Abby’s office were a creamy beige, softly lit by an assortment of lamps. A small medical area was built into her private office space. 

Bellamy crossed the room to look at some other drawings hung on the walls, unframed, charcoal on thick, pulpy paper. It was a fascinating study--six groupings of four drawings, except the last one, which only had two. The first in the series looked, at first glance, like the artist had just shaded in with charcoal. But when he took a step back--or leaned in--shapes emerged and faded, into what looked like the skeletons of trees, of animals. 

The earth, he realized, as he looked at all of them together. One in the second grouping looked like the ocean or a lake, sick and black. And the same point of view in the fifth grouping, with tiny blades of grass and small trees around the edges, the water still dark but less so. It caused a curious lump in his throat to see it, to see the documented renewal of the earth, to feel it familiar somehow.

“Aren’t those gorgeous?” 

Bellamy startled and turned to see Abby coming in the door from behind him. He cleared his throat. “Yeah. Beautiful. Whoever did this...it took a lot of talent. Did you draw them?” Clarke had drawn, he remembered, chest still twisting like it always did when he thought of her. Maybe she got it from Abby. 

Abby looked at him curiously, and Bellamy shifted a little. She opened her mouth and closed it. Abby looked to the art on the walls, then back at him, her expression clearing. 

“You...haven’t talked to anyone? Yet?” Her voice came out tight and breathless, and Bellamy knew that his world was about to shift. 

But what could possibly hurt him now? His sister alive, his people had survived, the earth he returned to young but growing. They had spent almost six years in space alone after the communications with the bunker shut down due to ALIE--who they shut down once and for all. It was a new beginning; for once, he had real hope, however small it was, that this time things would be right. But that hope began to fracture as he looked at Abby. 

Bellamy dug his fingers into his hips, bracing himself. “No? Harris and his crew brought us in, and some guard kid brought me here, said you wanted to do medical exams before anything else.”

“And of course...without Octavia or Kane here, no one would think….” A tear slipped down her cheek. News to share on earth was almost never _good_ , not completely, but she was smiling and had brought her hand up to his cheek and her thin shoulders shook with whatever it was she had to tell him and _fucking what was it_. 

Waves of hot and cold washed over him, the itch in his body grew stronger, the whisper of _something something something_ that he just didn’t quite _know_ grew louder. He crossed his arms to control it, to hold himself together. “What, Abby? What? Told me what? Come and found me why?”

“I...sit down, Bellamy.” 

“No, Abby, just tell me, please. God, please, whatever it is.”

Abby backed away and nodded, but still couldn’t make herself _say_ it. 

Then, finally, she did. 

“Clarke...Clarke made it, Bellamy. She’s alive.”

The itch, the whisper, silenced. 

“What do you mean, alive?” 

They had only found out a few months ago, Abby told him as she led him out of the office, down the endless concrete halls of the basement medical wing. Abby ran to keep pace with him, tugging on his hand to direct him in the maze of the bunker that blurred before his eyes. Clarke literally had appeared knocking at the door, Abby said, with a child that she found, a team of _miners_ \--can you believe it?--from space. They had spent the four years living out of Becca’s lab, and in the last few years, eating the what little the regenerating Earth provided. But she was _alive_. 

“She’s here,” Abby said as she pushed the button for the elevator. “Or should be. She and Kane went out to scout for our first settlement, and he radioed in that they were on their way back a few hours ago. He knows that you guys landed, and I’m sure he told Clarke.” 

Bellamy nodded, but he had no words. Only a blank certainty that this was a lie, or a dream, or a mistake. 

The elevator dinged and the doors slid open. As soon as the doors shut and the hush of the elevator descended on them, Bellamy’s heart went wild, and sweat broke out on his temples. _Shock. You’re in shock_ , he thought, detached. 

“Bellamy.” Abby placed her hand on his arm, drawing him back into the present. “Look at me.”

He lifted his gaze, almost afraid of what he’d find there. After all the times he told her Clarke was gone, or missing, or even dead, she should hate him. Resent him, at least. But instead she looked...happy. 

“You always had the courage to tell me...to tell me the hard things. Things that would break my heart. You took on yourself for Clarke, and for me.” Her grip tightened and her words were fierce, urgent, as the elevator chirped each level upwards. “I want you to know that I never blamed you. That I knew, always knew, you would do all you could to take care of Clarke, to keep her alive. I know my kid,” she smiled at him briefly, willing him to smile back, so he did, a little. “It’s not easy.” 

Bellamy ducked his head, but felt the cold recede with her words, his focus clear, his breathing slow. The doors slid open at the first level, and they walked out, Abby’s hand gripping his elbow to steer him. 

“She’ll be in the---” 

But Abby’s voice stopped, she stopped. Bellamy’s feet caught on the concrete a little as the momentum caught up with him; he steadied himself, looked to Abby, almost asked _what_?

He didn’t, though. He heard a soft, surprised, warm voice say, “Bellamy?”

And there she was.


End file.
